#10...Black Socks

When I walk through my house, one thing is a given.

I will see multiple pair of no show athletic socks scattered various places along my route.

A few things to note about these given socks....

1. They are black in color. The color is important. If you didn't know, white socks are no longer cool. Therefore, the forty-something father in our house is no longer cool.

2. They stink. Thirteen year old boys...puberty...sports...all these things equal very stinky socks. And these things also mean a lot of other stinky things, but we won't go into that here. We are just talking about socks.

3. They surprise you. You go to the kitchen to start dinner for your family of five...BAM! Black socks on the kitchen counter. You finally get a chance to take a load off and sack out on the couch for ten minutes...BAM! Black socks stuffed between the couch cushions. You go to the potty to do you business...BAM! There they sit right by the toilet on the floor, left by the last customer.

As you have guessed by now, my oldest kid, Jackson, is the owner of these socks.

We have had this issue for a while. When the said socks started appearing, momma did a lot of gentle reminding.

"Jackson, please put your socks in the dirty clothes hamper, okay buddy?"

That went on for a few weeks. But if you are a mom and you are reading this, you know that your patience begins to wear a bit thin when you sound like an endless broken record. So...

"Jackson! Get these nasty socks up and put them where they belong! That's the last time I am telling you!"

After that didn't work, I turned to plotting and scheming.  Pair by pair, I collected them until I had almost every pair. I washed them but then hid them away in my closet. Jackson ran out of socks pretty quickly. One would think that this would have been an eye opening experience. Remember, white socks are not cool anymore; so being forced to invade dad's sock drawer was mortifying. But within a week or two of mercy being extended and all of his socks returned, Jackson slipped back into habit and the socks began to surprise me once again.

These days we are in a vicious cycle.

"Jackson! Pick up the socks!"

"Sorry, mom!"

"Jackson, socks...laundry basket...now!"

"Oh mom, I'm so sorry!"

"Jackson, I am so sick of these socks!"

"What? Where? I thought I put those up...sorry mom."

An almost fourteen year old boy's black athletic socks...they have become my nemesis.

The other day I pulled in our drive from another day at Watertown High. The thirty minute drive down Gassaway Road gets me ready to tackle an afternoon full of activities and life with the three kids. I normally arrive home a few minutes before my friend, Tammy, drops them off. This day was no different. I turned the engine off and grabbed my bags, eager to be home.

As I walked up the short set of stairs I reached for the door knob and looked down to see a single black sock hanging out on the stoop.

I laughed.

These socks are literally everywhere in my life. Even though the kid has big feet, these socks are really so small; insignificant you might say. But yet, they have caused a many stern conversation about responsibility and hygiene and respect and cleanliness. These small socks get on my nerves and need my attention every day. They have been known to change my mood and make me grumpy. I don't like these socks.

But in that moment...in yet again another moment of surprise...I realized that one day in the not so distance future I will miss these socks. My days of finding these socks scattered all around my house seem unending, but these days are truly numbered. All the grumpiness and the bad moods and aggravation needs to be replaced by the positive.

Black socks mean Jackson is full of life and excitement. So much so, that in sheer excitement of moving on to something else, he "runs straight out of them".

Black socks mean Jackson is healthy. They mean he runs and walks and sweats.

Black socks mean Jackson is active.  He is working hard toward his goal of being a strong and accomplished athlete.

Black socks mean he is comfortable in a home where he feels loved, cared for, and where the not-so-attractive habits will be given grace.

For all these things I pray a prayer of thanksgiving.

So many times as a mother, or an earthly human being for that matter, I tend to be critical and spend time on the things that I think need perfecting in others. I lose sight of the fact that perfection will not be obtained...not ever. I forget where the emphasis needs to be placed.

There is light at the end of every tunnel.  There is a positive in everything. There is good in every situation. For every bad, there are multiple goods.

You just have to decide to look at the situation, the problem, or the person from a different perspective.

Black socks. A gentle but smelly reminder that I am a mother of a healthy, active, happy, and comfortable young man that loves life. They teach me patience. They allow me to lovingly teach a lesson. They make me laugh now and again.

An almost fourteen year old boy's black athletic socks...they have become my friend.